


Fireheart

by deathtoonormalcy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bottom Castiel, Cas is really naive okay, Fantasy, M/M, Mages, Magic, Mercenaries, Naive Castiel, On the Run, Slavery, Warlocks, Wizards, mercenary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathtoonormalcy/pseuds/deathtoonormalcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a young mage on the run and is very weak after getting his powers concealed as to not be tracked by the King's men. Castiel hires a brutish Mercenary to escort him to safety. At first the polite Enoch and the Rowdy hunter clash. Castiel may be able to outrun the King, but his feelings for Dean are catching up to him fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Burn the witch!"

"Burn him!" The villagers screams rise from the flames. I can feel the white hot blaze lick at my back.

"I'm not-" But my voice is lost. I scream, nails digging into the wooden post I'm stretched across. The lashings down my back ache.  _Crack_. _Crack_.  _Crack_.

"Burn him!" They scream in unison, preparing the kindling beneath me. A man looks me in the eye as he drops the torch in the grass beneath my knee. I burn.

* * *

I wake up so suddenly I hit the wooden beam above my bed.

"Quiet down!" The man bellows from the bunk above me.

"My apologies." I whisper as the room fills with displeased grumbles. The men slowly settle back into sleep as I burrow further in the bed. It's warm, but the blanket it scratchy and worn. I roll onto my side, the contents in my pack rattle under my head. Every traveler who sleeps at a tavern knows to use your pack as a pillow, to ward thefts. I dazedly slip my hand into my pack, rifling around until I find my water sack. I sip from it before replacing it back in the bag. I have to remember to fill it before leaving in the morning.

I drift into sleep for what feels like moments, but when I wake the burly man who insisted on getting the bunk above me hops off the bed creating a mini earthquake. I wake up startled and he grins.

"Morning M'lady." He leers. I look away, slipping the hood further down my face. I am often mistaken for a female. My youth paired with my pale skin, and feminine mouth make me appear like a maiden. Thankfully my voice helps to warn most competent men.

Sitting up I straighten my cloak. It's early enough were the sun has yet to cast it's light. I gather my things, stuffing them into my pack as I head out of the tavern. Quickly paying for my night. I amble into the woods, letting the branches close off the path behind me.

* * *

I travel the entire day, the fog wafts in to cover any who might be tailing me. The steady crunch of leaves beneath my boots is comforting. The animals skitter away frightened when I crush a branch.

"Boy." My shoulders twitch at the voice as I whip around. There is nothing there but the dense mist and the shadows of tall trees.

"Who's there?" I call, but with no reply. I slid my hand into the short sword at my hip, fingering the hilt. I have another tucked in my sleeve, but that is only for emergencies.

"Who's there?" I demand more firmly. My eyes track a movement to my left and I strike.

"Getting quick, you must be training."  _Daily_. My eyes narrow. Zachariah is a paunchy warlock, gray hair thinning. He likes to fancy himself a Lord, with his ridiculous gaudy jewels and silken cloaks. He is dressed down for his travels in the woods thankfully, his coat is a dark silk with only minimal jewel.

"Leave me in peace, or I will kill you." I threaten and Zachariah lets out a sharp bitter laugh. I skip back on my feet, he may be more talented than me, but I'm faster.

"Kill me? After what you let that  _bitch_  do to you. You couldn't hurt a fly in this condition." Zachariah chuckles.

"Don't talk about Meg like that." I hiss, delving forward. A long narrow sword batters mine away effortlessly.

"You're a fool, Castiel. You're going to get yourself killed." Zachariah is close, glaring deeply at me. So far the spell had done it's job, sealing my powers away so they couldn't consume me. I need proper training, but first I had to cross the kingdom without getting caught and send back to Micheal. Zachariah was one of the best trackers in the kingdom.

"Leave me!" I hiss. Zachariah snarls as I slice at his forearm, his strange watery eye color sparks with hatred.

"Once my King tires of you, I'll be the one to strip the flesh from your bone you worthless beggar!" Zachariah is strong and I barely manage to roll from beneath his blow. The last wisps of my powers bleed from my fingertips and I collect them in my palm like water, they seep through my fingers. I scramble to gather enough to cast back at him.

"NO! Castiel!" Zachariah roars as I savagely slide my palm into my blade sketching out the sigil for the spell and slamming my palm onto it. Zachariah disappears in a flash of bright light. I collapse on the ground, knowing it may have only given me a day or two heads start. Without my powers at full capacity I would be unable to use them for at least two weeks. It was time to employ some help.

* * *

I had been dreading this. Meg had told me I would eventually need to hire I mercenary.

'Your sweet little ass can't wander the woods alone.' She had grinned, dark hair falling over her shoulders in loose curls.

I had been desperate to prove her wrong. I could take care of myself. But I was so very weak as I dragged myself to the tavern in town. The village I had managed to drag myself too was called Lazarus, it was small and rowdy and the breeding ground for Mercenary's and Hunters. I would have to find someone to employ.

Opening the door to the tavern a young woman with blonde hair who looked around my age glanced at me.

"Are you alright?" She demanded, moving to my side. I flinched as she moved to touch me, I didn't like being touched by strangers.

"I'm fine. May I sit?" I asked slowly, keeping the hood low on my brow. I could not chance being recognized. The girl seemed surprised at my low voice, obviously assuming I was a female from the lower half of my jaw. I sighed as she led me to a table in the back.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked softly, like I was a wild animal that might startle.

"Water." I asked. I'd emptied my animal skin only a few minutes after my meeting with Zachariah. I was thirsty and dozing, light headed still from being drained so thoroughly. A hand touches my shoulder and I jerk away on reflex. The young woman frowns as she hands me my glass.

"Here, wave me over if you need anything else." She says tightly. I nod my thanks, gulping down the liquid quickly. It dribbles down my chin, I swipe at it with the cuff of my oversized cloak. I rest for a few minutes before gathering the last of my energy. It's foolish, but it needs to be done. I cup my palms, watching the blue aura the color of lightening swell like a giant rain droplet. Closing my eyes I let it burst across the room, skidding across all of the men and woman for hire.

My senses burn as I find a man in the corner who is one of Zachariah's. He is searching for me, but has yet to spot me. I'm dangerously faint, I can feel my eyes sinking in and my breath becoming short. I cast a tiny spell to discourage him from looking in the corner of the room I'm hiding in. I move onto the next person and the next.

Each person's aura is hazy. Some filled with greed, lust, one man is obviously a serial killer. He is eyeing the young blonde barmaid who is helping me. I will have to take care of him before I move on to the next town.

I stand, about to give up. There is no one here I can trust. The only person who is even remotely amiably is the blonde girl who is just a child, and a weak one at that. She is hustling over to help my swaying form when the door opens. My vision flashes brightly, it's like the sun has walked in. Everyone else's dull, bleary aura is burned away by the man who saunters in laughing heartily.

"You look ill." The girl wraps a arm around my waist when I tilt over.

"Him." I murmur. The man's green eyes spark with life, with fire as he turns to say something to the taller man at his side. The sit at the bar, and the man with a fireheart looks around for the blonde girl at my side.

"What?" The girl asks.

"It's him." I breath. I'd never seen someone so pure, so strong. His soul rivaled my own when I wasn't being bound. But he wasn't special, he was just a man.

"Who? Dean?" The girl turns, stumbling with me when I crash into the the table. The water falls and wets my sleeve.

"Dean." Is the last word I remember saying.

* * *

When I awake, I feel the steady pulse of concern press into my mind. The girl sits beside me, swabbing a damp cloth over my brow.

"You're awake." She breaths. I sit up and she smiles at me.

"I'm sorry-" My throat cracks and breaks. I wince and she hands me a cup of water. I sip eagerly.

"You fainted. I was worried." She smiles, golden hair twisted against her long pale throat. She's surely the town beauty. I have to remember to take care of the murder who was stalking her in the tavern.

"I apologize. I haven't eaten in a few days." Which was true. I was not a hunter, and had only managed to find some berries in the woods a few nights ago. A hearty bowel of lukewarm soup was set in my lap. Think chunks of potato and meat swirled around. I nearly groaned at the pungent smell. After my meal the blonde took my bowel away, she returned with another thick bowel and I finished that too.

"I'm Jo, by the way." She says, amused smile twisting her pretty lips up. I look up from my meal and offer a small nod.

"James." I lie. My true name is rare, I can not give it to strangers no matter how kind.

"Dean says he doesn't know you, he carried you up here." Jo continued. I felt my neck prickle at the mention of the man with a fireheart. The memory of the light bursting from his chest, swirling, twisting and dancing across the room was one I'd remember forever.

"Where is he?" I demand. Jo looks shocked for a moment before frowning.

"He's a hunter, probably trapping." Jo shrugs.

"When will he return?" I ask as calmly as I can.

"Tonight." Jo eyes me suspiciously. I open my mouth to rattle off a lie when the door bursts open.

"How is he?" A enormous man smiles. His soul is also beautiful, warm and inviting. But it's not nearly as all encompassing as Dean's. Dean was almost dangerous in his ferocity.

"I am fine." I answer, I will not be treated as a child. No matter how ill. The large man lets out a low chuckle. He smooths back his long hair into the messy ponytail at his neck.

"My name is Samuel Winchester." He introduces. I look at his hand, unsure of what he wants. I slowly hand him my empty cup and his eyes widen before he is thrown into another fit of laughter.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The man grins, a wide dimpled smile that makes me uncharacteristically relaxed.

"I've traveled far." Is my answer, which makes his brow raise above his slanted eyebrow.

"An Enoch." He says softly, his light hazel eyes darken. His gaze flickers protectively to Jo and instantly she is moving to his side.

"How could you tell?" I ask slowly. Samuel's heart darkens at the threat of me. He's an intelligent man. Most people haven't even heard of my race, let alone be able to identify it within seconds of meeting.

"Sam's a scholar." Jo says from behind his shoulder.

"Your accent; and your eyes." He adds. I subconsciously tug at my hood only to find my cloaks been removed. The nearly glowing blue of my people is an indicator to my heritage.

"I don't have an accent." I scowl. I worked very hard to hid my native tongue from the brutish language most of the kingdom utilize. Sam smiles at that.

"You speak a little too stiffly to be from around here." He informs. I accept the criticism storing it for later use.

"Will you kill me?" I question, leaning back against the headboard. I'm too weak to fight him, my life rests in his hands. Sam's eyes widen.

"You're a dying race, of course not. But why have you traveled so far south?" He asks.

"I need to hire a mercenary to assist me to the Lower Realms." Which is true. I am not a good liar, so spinning in the truth with my lies always helps to deliver them more accurately.

"What will a child do in the Lower Realms." Sam snorts. I purse my lips at the word. I am not a child, probably older than Sam himself. Although I am still on the cusp of manhood.

"I seek the prophet." I answer truthfully. Sam's eyes widen.

"You're insane." He declares.

"Perhaps." I shrug. Sam's mouth hangs open, but before I can get another word out my world swells into blackness.

* * *

When I awake it is dusk. I am chained to the bed. I sigh, picking the lock easily as I search the room for my pack. I find it tucked in a drawer, along with my washed cloak. Quickly I pull it on, waddling down the stairs under the weight of my pack. I'm still so weak it makes me sick.

"Damn thing was the size of a horse." A low timber voice complains. I look up and across the bar. My aura sense has quelled enough were I can only feel the barest touch of emotion from a person. I can feel Sam's weariness, and I can feel Jo's exasperation at her mother. But Dean, Dean I feel as if he is my own soul. Dean is hungry, and he enjoys the small aches in his muscles from the large animal he had trapped earlier. Faint stirrings of pride remain from when Sam had complimented him. Dean is an open book.

"It couldn't have been that big." Sam teases. I faintly see the resemblance and realize they are brothers. Dean's outraged.

"I got em' strapped onto Impala out back, I'll show you!" Dean accent is heavy, and rough. He sounds like the stereotype of the Middle Lands that my brothers used to mock.

"I was kidding, Dean." Sam rolls his eyes, taking a large sip before he spies me. He coughs and stands.

"How'd you get loose?" He snaps. But I hardly mind him. Dean looks at me and the air around me crackles. Dean's curious instantly, and wary. He stands beside his brother, on high alert in an instant. He's a warrior and I need him.

"I'd like to employ you." I call, striding past Sam who had started walking towards me. Dean's eyes widen as I tilt back my hood.

"The kid from yesterday?" He doesn't sound sure. I probably looked very drawn in and sickly.

"My name is Cas-" I bit my tongue. How foolish. I had nearly given him my name in a room fool of strangers. His powerful loyalty wafted over me, cocooning me in a shell of false safety. The loyalty he had to Sam. If I had my powers I could transfer that devotion to myself, Dean would die to protect me. The overwhelming desire to bond him to me is instant. I won't be able to for weeks. I'll have to hire him until then, and perhaps form a normal bond.

"Cas? Weird name." Dean says, and he's speaking lowly. Green eyes peering down at me like he can feel my aura pressing over his chest searching out his every emotion.

"I need a guard, someone to help me travel to the Lower Realm." I stare at him hard, not letting his eyes leave mine. He has no choice, I would like to compel him but I'm still so very weak.

"Sorry, kid. I don't do babysitting jobs. Try Gordon over there." He jerks a thumb back to the dark man who is hunting me for Zachariah. My chest aches when he looks up, but only to throw an annoyed look at Dean.

"You don't understand-"  _You belong to me_. I'd heard of familiars. But Dean was clearly human. But my soul climbed over his, finding a bond I'd never felt with anyone. He would protect me. I could feel it. Dean didn't seem to agree.

"Look, kid. I'm sort of busy, why don't you-" Before he can finish Gordon is up and across the room. Dagger inches from my throat before Dean's wrenching him back.

"What the hell!" Dean shouts. The tavern turns into an all out brawl. I'm much too weak to fight. I stagger back into the wooden bar. Dean pulls the massive sword slung across his back and slams it's broadside into Gordon, sending him flying back with a pained grunt.

"What's wrong with you?!" Dean snarls.

"The boys a demon!" Gordon hisses. I tremble against the platform. A few men turn to me. Dean does as well, dark green eyes flickering with indecision. When another man lunges for me I'm being hauled back. I yelp as I'm drug out the front door, Dean glaring hard in front of me as he holds out his sword.

"How much you paying me, kid?" Dean demands, licking his lips as he sits low in a defense. Arm muscles bulging under his sleeves.

"Fifty gold now, fifty later." I say shakily. Dean's still holding the front of my cloak in his fists.

"That's pretty good." He says, not looking back. He tsk's as one of the men try and dart forward to get to me.

"Hey Sammy!" Dean calls. His brother is still gaping from the back of the tavern.

"I'm gonna take a little trip. Get some easy cash." Dean drawls. Sam instantly begins protesting as Dean whistles.

"Dean, you can't just-" A massive black horse rounds the side of the tavern. A huge boar strapped to her back. Dean cuts down the boar, tossing me up on the saddle.

"I should be back in a few weeks." Dean calls, his horse neighs loudly. Black fur sleek and silken beneath my palms as Dean swings himself up.

"Dean, wait!" Sam shouts, but we are already galloping full speed down the path.

* * *

The grit of dirt smears my cheek as Dean forces me down onto the ground, his knee digging painfully into my back.

"So why'd they call you a demon, Cas?" Dean's voise is a lazy drawl of his people, tongue heavy and incompetent. I grind my teeth together and glare hard over my shoulder.

"I don't know." I lie. It's obvious and Dean's soul ripples with distrust. I curse under my breath, cutting Dean off before he can threaten me again.

"I was a prisoner, and I escaped from the castle." I choke, feeling the sick knot tangle in my chest like it always does whenever I remember the castle. Dean leans off a little bit.

"What did you do?" Dean asks tensely, he does not let people in easily. I wish my powers where in full force so I could bask in the glory of his loyalty and love. Something I have never received.

"It's none of your business. All you need to know is that the King has sent his best men to come in search of me and has convinced them that I am some sort of monster." I admit blithely, trying to buck Dean off. He doesn't even seem to notice as he hums low in the back of his throat and seems to loose himself in his thoughts, most likely deciding if he will kill me or assist me.

I hope for the later.

Dean stands and tugs me up with him. I am so weary that my knees nearly buckle.

"Geeze, kid. When was the last time you ate?" He asks with annoyance.

"Two morrows ago." I mutter, eyes sliding shut against my will. Dean hefts me like a large bag, he uses one hand to unravel the back he had attached to Impala. He throws it down on the ground and it unrolls to be a large fur bedding. Dean is a large man so it's understandable why he would need so much bedding.

"Rest, I'm going to get us food." The hunter barks as he quickly makes a fire that takes me well over half an hour to ignite without magic. I try glaring at him, but he is already heading into the woods.

* * *

I wake to the smell of roasting meat and someone shaking my shoulder without tenderness.

Roughly jostled, I rake in a terrified breath and slam my palm into Dean's forehead. He grunts before blinking up at my hand which rests on his brow.

"You're strange." He informs, as if I wasn't aware. I drop my hand into my lap and blink the sleep away from my eyes.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you how to punch?" He complains handing me a fat turkey leg. I delay answering by eagerly consuming the meat. The crunch of the skin gives way to the tender flesh that nearly melts on my tongue. I groan and rub the fat smeared over my lips away with my sleeve.

"I've never needed to know how." I confess, devouring the rest of the leg. Dean hands me another hunk of flesh.

"What do you mean? Every kid should know how to fight." Dean huffs, ever the burly peasant.

"I was raised in the castle, I've never had the need for violence." Which was another lie. I was a skilled killer. But currently I was as defenseless as I was clueless on how to survive without the comforts of living with royalty and without having powers.

"Spoiled brat." Dean complains under his breath, savagely ripping into the meat. I sneer at his eating habits but don't comment because it truly is difficult to eat a meal politely without silverware.

After our meal Dean cleans up our makeshift campground.

"So where exactly am I taking you?" Dean asks once we've mounted Impala. She whinnies and blinks large amber eyes at her owner. I can sense her love for her master, paired with a familiarity that is startling. Dean had raised the horse since she was a colt.

"The lower realms." I inform. Dean let's out a loud snort from behind me.

"No seriously." He says, I glare at him over my shoulder.

"I would not joke so lightly." I hiss back tartly, annoyed with him. Dean is so unlike any other person I've ever met, he's almost brutish in his lack of manners. Although refreshing to hear someones true feelings, it was a startling contrast to what I was used to at the palace.

"Kid, you won't survive five minutes in the Lower Realm." He snaps, jerking the reigns so Impala halts.

"That is none of your concern." I feel the prick of my fingernails into my palm. How dare he? I am not a child-

"I'm not going to deliver some kid to his death." Dean insist.

"I am not a child." I snarl, fury finally boiling over. Dean looks at my scrawny frame and raises and eyebrow. I am currently malnourished from weeks of being on the run.

"Could have fooled me." Dean smirks condescendingly. I want to use my magic to knock him off the horse.

"Fine, I'll find someone else to do my bidding." I snap, trying to descend from the massive black horse. Dean boxes me in with a strong forearm around the waist.

"Hold it, kid." Dean starts. I elbow him sharply and he releases me.

"I am not a kid." I snip, dropping to the ground. Dean grips the back of my cloak.

"Look, I was just messing around. Get back up here." Dean says, tugging me back like a kitten being carried by the scruff of the neck by it's mother.

"Release me, heathen!" I snap, shoving at his leather gloved hands. Does the man even own anything not made of some sort of animal flesh.

"Settle down, runt. If I take you to the Lower Realms, what will you do there?" He asks.

"It's the only place where the king has no rule. My cousin has a home and a small herb shop he will allow me to work at." I tell him the truth, and I'm not sure why. I try not to give out any details to any of the strangers I meet. He's still holding the back of my cloak and its irritating.

"Alright," He grips my forearm and lifts me back onto the horse.

"Let's go." He declares, and sets Impala off at a steady gait. I try and peek at him over my shoulder but he meets my gaze, green eyes bright with amusement. I flush and lean away from his chest glaring at the woods ahead.

This will not be an easy voyage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What the hell is a daemon?" Dean demands, brow furrowed and looming over me.
> 
> "A witches source of power. A sort of extension of their soul. Humans call them soul mates. Daemons and Familiars are pretty much the same thing, but Daemons usually take human form while Familiars choose animal bodies."

"I want to play outside." Castiel says, looking over the balcony where some of the noble children are running through the gardens. When some of the children catch sight of him they point and scream, giggling as they run away. There is a rumor among the children now that he is a ghost who watches them.

It irks him to no end.

"You're not like other children, Castiel. So you must act accordingly." Micheal's authoritative voice says from within the room, standing in the center of Castiel's vast bedroom at the top of the tower. Everything in the room was white, the marble floor, the grand bed, even the curtains and walls. It always gave him the feeling of being in the clouds, but lately the pure surroundings have been driving him mad.

He didn't want to be one of Micheal's flawless little trinkets he kept within his castle. He wanted to go explore, to be covered in dirt and to smell the pungent aroma of flowers that sometimes swept up into his room on windy days from the garden below.

"I want to be like the others." Castiel whispers. He feels Micheal's hand clasp his shoulder, bringing him back to reality.

"Even though you've been bound, you will never be like them.  _We_  will never be like them. We are special, unique and superior in every way. They do our bidding, while we conquer and become legend. They have no place in history. But together you and I can form the foundations for a brighter future." Castiel has heard all of this before. That he is chosen, that he is legend. Micheal  _needs_  him.

But he wants none of it.

* * *

I rear awake from my dreams, wincing as the sun shines through the forest canopy and onto my face. The woods are loud with the birds morning song, and Impala in snuffling into the lush grass beneath her snout.

Dean snores slightly on the other side of the fire. His hair is mussed up, and he's sprawled across his bedding freely.

Yawning heavily, I sit up and start on breakfast. I make a thick oatmeal, sprinkling sugar into it before filling my belly with the hot meal.

"Mornin'." Dean grumbles, rolling over with a grunt before he stumbles over to the bush to relieve himself without an ounce of self consciousness.

He flops back onto his bedding and shovels some oatmeal into his own bowel and devours two bowels before I finish my first.

"How long do you think it will take for us to get to the Lower Realms?" I ask, because despite receiving a formal education surpassing most scholars. I had never even seen a map of the lands, let alone knew how to get to the Lower Realm.

"Two months, if we rush." Dean says around a mouth full of food. I blink at him because surely I've heard wrong.

"Excuse me?"

"Eight or nine weeks, we should be there before summer." Dean clarifies. A heavy weight settles over my ribs. I feel my breath going short in panic.

"Whoa! You okay?" Dean asks, but his voice doesn't register in my blind frenzy. I grip my cloak tight around me and close my eyes.

"I'll be dead before then." I croak, tears blurring my eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Dean demands, eyes hardening at my declaration. He grips the front of my tunic, the silken threads look strange against his tanned calloused fingers.

"Nothing. I'll figure something out." I grit, shoving him away as I angrily wipe the frightened tears from my eyes. I'll have to send word to Meg, she said she only had the power to bind my powers once, but she might know of a way to do it a second time. I had at least six weeks to find a way to withhold the magic that swelled up in me. If I didn't find another witch or warlock powerful enough to lock away my powers than I would ... die.

I had to find the prophet, and fast. He could teach me how to control myself, but the man was nearly impossible to find. Some even said he was just a legend. But he was the only one who could even begin to understand my plight. He was the the only one in the entire land powerful enough to aide me.

"Look, if I'm gonna help you than I need to know what's going on!" Dean shouts, green eyes fierce. I glare back at him.

"I'm paying you fifty gold coins to take me to the Lower Realms. You are to protect my person and escort me there accordingly. Our relationship ends there." I snap, annoyed at the prying. I can't explain myself to Dean. If I had my powers I could put a simple binding spell on him so he would be obedient and not so nosy.

Dean goes rigid in front of me before snorting.

"Fine, if that's how you want it." He glares, hastily packing up camp and setting back on the trail.

* * *

Riding a horse for days at a time is miserable. My legs ache painfully and I have welts and blisters in places that extremely uncomfortable.

When Dean allows us to make camp I search around the forest for the proper ingredients and make myself a balm to help ease some of my discomfort.

Dean watches me from across the fire. It's dark out, and Dean and I haven't spoken more than a few sentences throughout the entire day.

"What is that?" Dean asks, his curiosity getting the better of him as I grind together some rosemary and aloe.

"A small spell." I reply, setting it near the fire to warm before I spread the oil over my thighs.

"Looks like plants to me." Dean huffs, leaning back into his bundle of furs. His boots cross at the ankles and the worn leather looks worn and comfortable. I find myself wondering how long Dean has been leading such a barbaric life.

"Not all magic is glowing hands and eyes of newt." I inform primly. I mutter a quick prayer over the still boiling pot and set it aside to cool as I remove my trousers with a wince.

"I don't believe in magic." Dean declares. I look up at him in shock.

"I don't understand." Is Dean trying to joke? I have never been very good with humor as I had so little exposure to it while growing up within the castle. Micheal and handmaidens where the only contact I had with the outside world, and neither where very talkative.

"Magic, it's all crap. No such thing." Dean waves his hand dismissively. I stare at him in bewilderment.

"B-But you're a daemon." I nearly laugh. An unclaimed one, but I was positive that Dean belonged to me even if my powers were stifled at the moment. If I was at full power we would have already bonded.

"What did you call me?" Dean snaps, instantly defensive. I stare at him in shock before shaking my head. Perhaps the markings on his soul are residuals from his previous life. Dean shows no supernatural ability. But I can feel my magic bubbling against it's bonds whenever he is near. He is a beacon of strength and righteousness, his soul helps fuel my own.

A very powerful tool for Warlocks.

"Nothing, forget it." I sigh, sliding the warm salve over my thighs to help ease some of the pain. Dean watched me without saying another word.

* * *

Oliver scurries down the hall, nervously wringing his hands. He stands outside of the massive double doors before entering the vast room. At the other end of the chamber, sitting in his throne is Micheal.

He radiates with cold glory, his hair blacker than a raven's wing, and his eyes the color of a thunder streak.

Oliver swallows thickly as he drops to one knee.

Micheal finishes examining a document before he signs it and hands it to one of his men.

"What?" Micheal asks, not even looking at Oliver fully. Oliver watches the sunlight that streams in from the massive windows catch on the silver of Micheal's crown. The crown is made of silver barbed wire made too look like thorns, it is both terrifying and beautiful, much like the King himself.

"Gordon has sent word." Oliver relays, feeling his palms break out into a sweat.

"And?" Micheal's tone doesn't relay a hint of emotion, not even impatience. It's as if he is made of perfect marble and no outside force can ever affect the perfection of their king.

"Castiel has found his familiar." Oliver can hear the tremble in his voice. He watches Micheal's eyes tighten around the edges just a fraction. It makes the young servant nearly collapse to the floor in terror.

Micheal stands and exits the throne room without another word, Oliver lets out a slow shaky breath.

* * *

"We need supplies." Dean says after the third day of our travels. I agree. I desperately needs to try and contact Meg before it's too late.

We ride into the small town. The smell of hot pastries makes me salivate after days of eating gritty meat and bland vegetables.

"Keep your hood down." Dean says, tugging the hood low over my brow. The feel of Dean's hand on the back of my neck is both strange and comforting. He let's Impala rest at the town stables.

"I'll meet you here at mid day." I say with a small wave, heading to where I can feel the light tingle of white magic on the outskirts of town.

"Wow, there." Dean barks, gripping the back of my cloak and jerking me against his chest. I grunt and glare up at him.

"We're staying together." Dean says with a cocked eyebrow, as if daring me to disagree.

"In case you forgot, I'm your employer." I grit, shoving at his large hands.

"Yeah, well you're paying me to get your ass safely to the Lower Realms and I can't do that if someone picks you off while you go looking for some more flowers." Dean's sarcasm is heavy and annoying. I curse at him in my native tongue and he scowls.

"They aren't  _flowers_ , they're herbs for a spell." I repeat for the hundredth time. Green magic is the only thing I'm capable of with my minimal amount of power. Perhaps I can whip up a spell to make Dean's tongue too swollen to speak.

"I'll go with you." Dean says, crossing his arms. I inhale a deep annoyed breath through my nose before heading to the shop. Dean Winchester hot on my heels.

The shop is small and covered in ivy. White heather springs around the base for protection. I raise my hand to knock.

"Come in!" A brisk voice cuts off my knock. I enter and Dean lets out a startled noise behind me.

"Peace and Light." Castiel greets formally. The woman's dark head appears from around a stack of spell books and she laughs.

"I haven't heard that stuffy old greeting since my grandmothers time. And from a child, no less." The woman chuckles. She appears to be more of a bar maiden than a witch. Her black corset is laced tightly and her full bosom is on full display. Her dark maroon skirt swirl around her black stockings and boots.

"Someone's done a number on you, kiddo." She hums, unseeing white eyes opening wide to examine me. I lower my guard and allow her in, feeling her power soak greedily into me to examine me with curiosity and kindness.

"Hmm." She hums, she turns in a flurry of her skirts and starts pressing her fingers into the spines of her worn books.

"I should have something." She tells me over one of her bared shoulders.

"What's going on?" Dean demands, obviously unable to feel the connection and greeting that me and Pamela have already established.

"You're a pure little thing, you know bonding with your daemon will give you a hell of a lot more power." Pamela says. I feel my cheeks flush at the thought, by the lilt in her tone she doesn't mean the magic bond, but the flesh one.

Sacrificing your flesh to your daemon was always a good way to establish a strong relationship, although it wasn't often practiced since most familiars where animals.

"What the hell is a daemon?" Dean demands, brow furrowed and looming over me.

"A witches source of power. A sort of extension of their soul. Humans call them soul mates. Daemons and Familiars are pretty much the same thing, but Daemons usually take human form while Familiars choose animal bodies." Pamela explains, pressing slender finger tips into the spine of a thick old book. She nods and pulls it from the book case.

When she drops it onto the heavy wooden table, a cloud of dust rises from it making Dean sneeze loudly.

"What does that have to do with me?" Dean asks, but Pamela has grown bored with him. Already encompassed with absorbing the knowledge of the spell book.

We sit in silence, and I have to hush Dean several times when he tries too speak.

"Come here, Castiel." She beckons. When I step forward, I feel Dean's hand clamp protectively on my shoulder. I look behind me in surprise, but don't miss the amused smile Pamela flashes to us.

"Dean." I frown meaningfully. Dean hesitates before releasing my shoulder. I step in front of Pamela and look down at her slighter form.

Slender hands cup my jaw and she hums.

"Handsome little thing, aren't you." She snickers, sliding her thumb over my full lower lip. I blush as she slides close to me, resting our foreheads together.

"Meg," She snorts, white eyes narrowing.

"She bound me." I inform.

"I can tell, she did a shoddy job." Pamela growls, cupping the back of my neck and pulling me closer. Our noses smash, and Dean makes an annoyed noise. I wonder if his soul is jealous, and he must misunderstand the feeling and be confused. I have no way of explaining how connected we truly are and how that effects him.

"Well," Pamela straightens and I feel my quick short breaths return to normal after the intrusion on my body. My magic feels unsettled like an upset stomach and it wriggles uncomfortably against the bond, rippling in reaction to Pamela's prying.

"She did a hasty job, but it saved your life. With power like yours its understandable that she needed to get it locked down as soon as possible." Pamela rubs her forehead, wincing.

"Is there anything I can do? To prolong the spell until I can find the prophet and learn how to control my powers properly." I ask, feeling stretched out and worn. If Dean and I were bound than I could replenish myself in his spring of light.

"I don't know anyone who can do more than what Meg did for you." Pamela admits.

"So I have less than a month." I whisper. Dean goes stiff.

"Cas, explain-" Dean snarls, trying to move in front of me.

"Know your place, daemon." Pamela snaps to Dean, annoyed at his constant interruption.

"I'm not-" Dean starts, but is quickly silenced with a wave of Pamela's hand.

"I've heard of a talisman. It's supposedly in the Scarlett Sea. It's called God's Grace, a powerful old warlock made it some years ago to bottle up his powers so he could live a mortal life with his human wife. If you can find it, it should save you until you find your prophet."

"I've heard the rumors, but we will never find it in time." I close my eyes in defeat. I will die within four weeks, and all because I'm too weak to control this immense blessing I've been given.

I open my eyes to see a tiny golden amulet dangling in front of my eyes.

"Protective Charm." Pamela grins. The little horned brass head swings from her finger tips. I reach out for it but he jerks her hand back.

"Nope, it will work better if Dean wears it." She says, tossing it to my daemon. Dean catches it easily and blinks down at it.

"Now Dean, that little charm will burn hot when it's close to the thing you need to find most. Right now, it's the talisman. But once you find that, it might even help you find the prophet. So don't loose it." Pamela smiles. I feel something loosen in my chest and my shoulders sag in relief.

"Thank you." I whisper hoarsely.

"Just remember us little people when you take over the world." She winks, I nod as I turn and head out the door. Over my shoulder I watch Dean examine the trinket before slipping it over his head. It suits him well.


End file.
